Wilting Petals
by royaltyrion
Summary: After a Lacrosse game, there are bruises left on Stiles skin despite the fact that he hadn't been put into the game. After a series of alarming symptoms, Stiles finds himself sitting in the waiting room of a hospital only to be told that not only had his mother passed down his eyes, but the disease that once plagued her, leukemia.
1. Chapter 1

This fic deals with mentions of cancer, so if that makes you uncomfortable in anyway, I wouldn't suggesting reading it. Otherwise, I hope you like it c:

* * *

><p>Honey brown eyes flickered from the darkened patches on his skin, examining each and every one of them carefully for what had to be the fifth time since noticing them. Scott was the one who had pointed them out to him just after the lacrosse game, but the funny thing was that Stiles was benched the whole time. The only time he had risen from his seat was to cheer for Scott from the benches before he would sit right down again. The only thing that he could possibly think of was the day he had accidentally hit his hand against his desk, but that wouldn't have given him such an array of bruises running along his arm.<p>

Of course the bruising situation wasn't the only thing that had plagued his mind and driven him to the point of paying his doctor a visit, but the fact that he was enduring frequent headaches, fevers, uncalled for weight loss and an unusual weak and weary feeling had alarmed him greatly.

Before arriving at his doctor's office, Stiles, of course, had done some research on his own. He recognized the symptoms from being around his mother, she had, from what he remembered, gone through all of the same symptoms he was experiencing in that moment, but he didn't want to access those memories. He didn't want to find out that they were going through the same exact things, fighting the same exact disease that had killed her off. As pessimistic as he could be, he was hopeful that whatever it was he was attempting to fight off was merely a cold, or some form of the flu that was stronger than most others and had the ability to make him bruise easily.

The only person who knew where he was happened to be Scott's mom, but only because she worked at the desk meaning he had to get through her to get to his doctor which proved to be an interesting task. Neither Scott nor his father knew of his whereabouts as Stiles kept it enclosed. He didn't want either of them worrying about him when he was probably dealing with something small. His father had enough to deal with on his plate just by being the sheriff and Stiles didn't want to keep adding to it, he didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already thought himself to be. Scott was somewhere out in the woods with Isaac last time he checked—of course he told Scott practically everything, but this could be kept to himself, it had to be kept to himself as there were other priorities and this doctors visit could merely be considered a checkup of sorts, right?

Nonetheless, Stiles sat in the waiting room where his doctor had told him to step out to after checking on him. It was odd—he was pretty sure that he was supposed to wait in the actual checkup room only to get the diagnosis, but all he could really do was sit and wait.

As he looked down at his phone, his eyes caught sight of a figure standing just in front of him of him and it was all too familiar. "Nooo," he said, disbelief plaguing his tone as he shook his head before his eyes flickered to Scott's mom just behind the desk.

"Sorry, kiddo, I had to call him," she said, holding her hands out in front of her chest.

He looked back up at his dad before slipping his phone into his pocket and rising to his feet. "What happened to 'I'm working on a case, see you at five with Chinese food."

His dad raised a single eyebrow before shaking his head. "..I never said anything about Chinese."

"You did, you just don't remember, but shouldn't you be out there fighting crime and solving cases?" He asked, finger pointing towards the door.

"Your health is more important to me—"

"Stilinski?" The doctor called, moving towards them with his clipboard in hand and Stiles' paperwork. "Come on; let's discuss this in the back."

Hearing the news more than shocked him, horrified him and sent him into a quiet, near motionless state with a stoic expression. All he could do was shake his head as his doctor continued to speak, but there was only so much he could handle in that moment. He rose from his chair before beginning to head to door. "I—I need to go," he spoke, quickly exiting before either male had time to stop him.

His feet carried him to the jeep to which he slipped in and started it before driving off with no set destination in mind. He just needed a clear head; he needed to be alone for a little while. His first instinct was to run from the problem until it went away, but this problem was stuck with him, latching onto him like the leech it was.

What seemed to be no more than two hours later did Stiles find himself walking through the front door. His first turned to head into the kitchen to set his keys down, although he was greeted with his father sitting there, just as the table.

"Hey dad, grab any food?" he asked in order to further evade the talk to come despite the fact that he wasn't the slightest bit hungry.

"We have to talk about this, you know."

"I think that what we have to talk about is our dinner plans for the night, but clearly you don't feel the same way." His tone lacked the usual use of sarcasm, but he was trying—he was trying so hard to activate the defense mechanism he so desperately needed in that moment.

"Stiles—" His dad spoke, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes conveyed concern that he never wanted to see directed towards them. He didn't want his dad worrying for him, he already had enough on his plate, but apparently Stiles wasn't making it any easier for him.

"What more is there to talk about, dad? We did all of that in the office." His voice rose further than he meant for it to, but he quickly brought it down to a level tone before he hesitantly took a seat just across from his dad, setting the keys down on the table.

"You can't keep avoiding this, I get it, we talked about the treatment, we talked about everything, but this is a lot to take in… And I know Scott's going to want to know what's going on too, Stiles, there's a lot more we can talk about right now."

Almost soon as he heard Scott's name, he shook his head. "I can't, he's.. he's got a lot to deal with already."

"You're on the top of his priority list, I'm sure that's where your best friend status leaves you." He wasn't going to mention the blossoming crush he began to spot recently, but it was definitely there.

"I'm don't think I can tell him," he breathed out, his defenses coming down.

"Tell me what?" came the voice Stiles had been dreading to hear. He shouldn't have left the window open for Scott as he usually did, he should have locked it almost as soon as he returned home because he knew that the situation he was stuck in would have come sooner or later, but he would have preferred it coming up later—so much later. That was what Stiles got for being so hopeful.

He found himself taking in a slow, considerably shaking breath of air as his hues flicked up to Scott standing in the opening to the dining room. There was general concern in the other's tone despite having no idea what was going on. As much as Stiles loved Scott, telling him this piece of information only to see his best friend's reaction would rip him apart. He wasn't able to tell the other boy that he was 'fine', not as he usually did. He couldn't pull that off and he knew for a fact that Scott would ask him again after hearing his beating heart speed if the lie rolled off of his lips.

Before he had too much time to process what he was beginning to say, Stiles spoke. "Tell you that.." His words unintentionally dragged out as he spoke, trying to figure out what exactly he was going to say and how he planned on saying it. "My dad here," he continued, motioning to his father. "Is going to be at the game tomorrow, front and center. It's a dream come true." While Stiles chose to ignore it, his father had shaken his head in the background.

That was among the few times he had lied to Scott with full intention over something so important. If he lied to the other, it was to protect him, nothing more than that, but he always told the wolf everything. It wasn't that he wanted to, but.. he wasn't ready to tell him about how the disease that had taken his mother was attempting to take him too. There was a lurching feeling in his stomach to which he laid a hand over his abdomen in hopes of holding it all in, holding and suppressing every rotten feeling that washed over him so that he could save it for later when he was alone or not acknowledge it at all. Luckily neither his father nor Scott could see where his hand lay due to the way Stiles was sitting at the table or surely both people would have been further concerned than he ever wanted them to be.

"Stiles, you're lying. Your heart is _pounding_." Scott stated, his eyebrows creasing, concern plaguing his brown hues as he took a few steps closer to his friend.

Stiles' eyes fluttered closed as his hands flew to his forehead. He took in a slow breath of air before taking another one, and another one. He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell him. Saying it aloud meant that he was confirming it, it meant that he was accepting it when the truth of the matter was that he had no choice but to accept it. He didn't want it—who did? Every time he attempted to open his mouth to say the words, he felt as if the breakfast from that morning followed by his dinner from the night before would make a reappearance. He just couldn't do it.

"Come on, what's wrong? Stiles, talk to me." Scott's voice was much closer to him than before as the other boy had moved towards him. The next thing he knew, he had felt a warm, gentle touch, taking his hand from his head before Scott bent down just next to him, although his head hadn't turned to look at him.

Somehow Stiles felt a small wave of comfort wash over him despite the situation, Scott's touch never failed to have the power to comfort him even if slightly.

His dad watched the two boys with softened eyes, remaining quiet as the scene played out before him. He would only step in if his son needed him to as it wasn't exactly his news to tell his son's best friend and, from recent observance, crush. He didn't want to intrude and make either of them comfortable so he merely patted the table with his hand before slowly rising from his seat. "How about I go get us all something to eat tonight," he spoke and while both boys heard the words that were spoken, Scott acknowledge them with a silent nod while Stiles couldn't find it in himself to acknowledge it at all as he was too far in his thoughts.

Scott's hue soon caught sight of the purple discolored patches of Skin on Stiles' arm to which he shook his head, eyebrows creasing further. "There's more," he observed, as his hand moved to grab a gentle hold of his arm, examining it. He took in a slowed breath of air before his hues flickered up at Stiles, waiting for the other finally meet his gaze. He had no idea what was the cause of the bruises and unless the other boy was in a secret fight club, there was no other explanation that his mind could immediately jump to. "I'm right here, I'm all ears, just tell me.. please." He spoke lightly; worry filling every fiber of his being as the silence carried on.

Stiles brown hues finally met with Scott's reassuring ones before he let out a heavy breath of air only to look away once more. His free hand rested just on the table, fingers tapping gently, quietly once. He hated feeling so weak especially if he let it show in front of other people, but he was human and that very piece of information shook him up as soon the words hit his ears. He wanted to be able to say that he was fine despite the fact that he clearly wasn't, but what else could Stiles possibly do?

"Leukemia," he mumbled, voice barely audible. "I have leukemia like.. like she did." He knew he didn't have to name who he was talking about, Scott knew better than anyone else.

His friend's eyes widened before his mouth slacked, yet not even seconds later did his features brighten with a sudden idea. "I can help—I mean, I can get rid of it." He did it all the time at clinic in order to help the dogs plagued with sickness, who was to say that it wouldn't work on Stiles too?

"What are yo—"

"Do you trust me?" Scott asked, eyes desperate as he rose to his feet although he never let go of Stiles hand.

"Always, but you have to tell me what you're trying to do, I don't—" He had started to say, although he was cut off as the grip on his hand became firmer. It was in that moment he began to feel the fatigue begin to lift away to which he looked at Scott, eyebrows furrowed before looking down at their arms where he could see the sickness quite literally surging from himself to his friend. The nausea was the very next thing to go. His eyes watched speechless as the process continued, he never thought that it could work on him—the dogs at the clinic? Of course, but him? It just didn't seem like a plausible thought.

A cough came out of Stiles' lips, followed by another one.. and another, each one progressively becoming harsher. The nauseas feeling came back stronger than ever before a metallic taste filled his mouth. "Scott—" He choked out desperately past the violent coughs. His eyes had begun to sting as his body wracked with coughs—he thought he felt awful earlier, but in that moment it felt like nothing he'd felt before.

Scott, in his attempts to remove the cancer by putting it into himself as opposed to leaving it in Stiles, realized that it only seed to make Stiles feel worse after the initial feeling of the sickness leaving his body. The boy let go of his friends hand as if his touch burned him and he soon found that he left a bruise in his wake.

He knew that Stiles never liked to cry, especially in front of other people, but Scott was easily able to spot the tears that began to form in his honey brown hues. Stiles was fighting it—he was fighting so hard not to succumb to the urge, but Scott was going to encourage it. The teen moved sit just next to Stiles, an instinctive comforting arm wrapping around his shoulders as Scott pulled Stiles in against his chest. He could feel the other shaking slightly beneath him—he couldn't have felt any worse for causing this. "I'm sorry," Scott whispered. "I'm so sorry, I thought it would work, I didn't think that anything bad would happen, it always works."

Only a few beats after his words came Stiles' voice. "It's okay. I'm fine."

Scott's eyes flickered down when he heard the hitched breathing—Stiles was most definitely holding it in, suppressing what it was that he was feeling. "It's me, Sti. Just you and me, you can let it go." His hand absentmindedly ran through his friend's hair. While the boy's body was trembling, he hadn't let any of his tears fall, he didn't plan on it. The feeling that was left after crying was among being one of the worst he had ever had to experience, he didn't want to find himself crying and especially not in front of Scott .He was worried enough as it was.

Scott couldn't remember a day that he had been around when Stiles had let go of the feelings he so often surprised as opposed to hiding it behind his veil of sarcasm aside from the day his mother passed. Surely there would be glazed over eyes and of course Stiles would often near the point of breaking down, but it had been a while since Scott was allowed to offer him a warm, comforting hug or anything of the sort.

He wished that Stiles would understand that it was okay not to be okay. How he handled not being okay was really what mattered and, quite frankly, surprising those feeling would leave it to build up. When it was finally time, when the walls holding him together shattered, it would be far too much to handle and Scott didn't want that for him.

"You'll fight this," he mumbled. "I'll be by your side every step of the way."

All was quiet for a moment. His eyes closed as he gently rested his chin against Stiles' head. His head rested on Scott's chest whilst his hand gripped the other's shirt and, after a while, his breathing had come to a slower pace, a normal one.

"What if I lose, Scott?" His voice was barely present. His mom lost, his mother fought hard and yet she still lost the waging war.

If Scott was speaking honestly, he had no idea how to answer Stiles. He didn't know nor did he even want to begin to think about the loss of his best friend, he couldn't even begin to fathom life without him.

"You're stronger than what you give yourself credit for."

Eventually his father had come home with food to which the two boys ate before silently sitting in Stiles' room and watching TV, although the air was heavy, neither of them spoke too much. It was when his father finally went to check on the boys did he see them laying close together on the floor, their limbs sprawled out. Letting out a soft sigh, he moved to grab the covers from Stiles' bed and gently laid it over them.

With a lingering glance, he turned off the light and closed the door, hoping that the case at hand would not be a repeat of what cancerous cells plagued Claudia. He didn't think he could bear to lose his son as well as his wife.


	2. Chapter 2

The werewolf's eyes fluttered open, squinting slightly as rays of light shone through the windows. He groaned lowly, head turning, burying into the cover as he waited for his hues to adjust. His arm had been wrapped around Stiles with the other male's head resting against his chest—something Scott had always found comforting.

With the sun out of his eyes, he was able to glance around the room without the impending danger of bright light. Scott's hues moved to look at his best friend, his lips curving sleepily at the sight before they focused on the other's moles, moving from one to the next. Perhaps if he had been in a better place for it, he would have favored tracing the moles with a warm finger, slowly drawing patterns on the other's pale skin, although he wasn't in the right place, nor was he sure how much Stiles would like that, if at all, so he refrained.

Shifting a little from where he lay on the ground, hazel orbs were finally able to catch sight of the clock and, oh—it was later than he expected it to be. They had hit the afternoon and the sheriff had yet to wake either of them up, but it made sense considering the long night his friend had.

Instead of remaining where he was, he carefully moved to slip from under Stiles in hopes that he wouldn't wake the other male. He wanted the other to get all the sleep that he was capable of having—he deserved it.

As soon as Scott was able to slip from under Stiles and the covers, he reached for the containers of Chinese food before rising to his feet and beginning to slip out of Stiles' room to head downstairs. From what he could hear, the sheriff was home as well, although his heartbeat was rather quiet in Scott's ears. That hadn't meant that anything was wrong, that wasn't the first conclusion he had wanted to jump to, although it seemed more so as if the sheriff had a quiet morning and, possibly, a lot on his mind.

He made his way down the stairs, turning to walk under the door frame of the kitchen before throwing away the containers. After that, he had decided to follow the scent and heartbeat of the other Stilinski to the living room, his eyes catching sight of the multitude of boxes that surrounded the elder male's feet and rested atop of the coffee table which would make it more than difficult for the sheriff when he decided that he wanted to get up to leave the room.

Scott's eyebrows rose curiously as he took a slow step inside of the living room, hues examining the boxes, attempting to see what was inside if he could. From the looks of it, it seemed to be boxes filled with memorable moments, trinkets and photos of a woman—beautiful—not too much younger than the sheriff was currently—and that was the moment that it clicked for the young werewolf.

Maybe it was difficult to remember what his best friend's mother looked like since he hadn't seen her, not even a picture, after what had happened. It also might have been easier to remember what she was actually like had Stiles spoken of her, although he couldn't blame the other male for not doing so. He had lost her—watched her eyes close for the last time. Stiles had every right not to speak of her if that was what he chose.

"What're you up to?" the boy mumbled sleepily as he began to move towards the couch opposite to Stiles' father. Considering Scott had been quiet up to that moment, the sheriff was only slightly caught off guard, although when he looked up, he offered Scott a small smile. The boy was sure that it wasn't meant to make his features appear exhausted, but it was clear that he wasn't the only one who hadn't gotten the best night of sleep possible.

"I just.. thought I would bring out a few albums," the elder spoke, eyes moving to look at Scott as his hands slowly ceased their movement through the box that resided in the sheriff lap. "Is he awake too? It's kind of early—for him, I mean.. "

Scott's lips curved at the fact that Stiles' dad was calling the evening too early for his son to be up and functioning, although he gave a shake of his head as he sat on the couch opposite to the other, leaning forward so that he could rest his elbows on his thighs. "Maybe just a little too early, but no, it's just me." The teen didn't know whether what he saw was relief in the sheriff's eyes or not, but it would make sense had it been relief. Both of them knew very well that Stiles didn't want to talk about his mother let alone see the old family photos—he never really did after she passed and they knew that the teen would prefer to keep it that way if he could.

Spotting a picture that caught his eye, he pulled it out of one of the boxes, examining it first. It was of Stiles and his mom hugging, the little boy resting against her hip and holding a mug that, from what he could see, had 'love' finger painted on it. All of them were smiling—not the kind of forced smile that people often did when taking a picture, but it was more genuine, as if the world had yet to begin the process of wearing it away. With his curiosity rising, Scott flipped the picture to show it to the sheriff. "Hey, where was this one taken?" He asked, tone tentative as he wasn't sure if he would make the other male uncomfortable by asking. He could only hope not.

As the sheriff's eyes focused on the picture Scott held, his lips began to twitch, curving into a morose smile. "It was mother's day and Stiles said he wanted to do something special for her.."

Perhaps Scott wouldn't have posed the question had he known that his best friend was just around the corner, leaning against the wall quietly as he listened to his father begin to explain what had occurred that day and, if his dad was to speak of the little 'complication' his mother had towards the end of the night, Stiles didn't necessarily want to be there to hear it.

Grabbing his jacket, Stiles slipped out of the back door and into the frigid air silently, though he knew Scott would have possibly heard it click as it closed unless he had managed to get himself too invested in listening to his dad's story.

Slipping his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the teen moved with purpose, walking down the sidewalk. He had no real idea where he was going or, at least, he wasn't thinking about where his legs would take him. But he had faith in them and, more often than not, he would find himself returning to the park—a place of undeniable comfort for him. Whenever he desired to get away from a problem he didn't know how to deal with in hopes it would go away or wanted to leave thoughts that he preferred not to be forced to deal with, he somehow always ended up there.

Though, this time, he knew the issue at hand would not go away—it wouldn't be the same. Not with this.

He absolutely despised how winded he had become just from the walk to the park or how his heart happened to be beating so quickly to its own discomforting tune, but what was he to do other than endure it?

The dark-haired male moved forward towards the trees, ducking under the branches whilst using his other hand to push away the leaves. The entrance to the park itself was hidden by shrubs and wildlife that grew over the years which was why there were hardly ever any other kids there. With the entrance being difficult to find or notice, not many would enter, although there were a few others who were able to find it and cherished the playground, feeling as if it was more so special due to the hidden entrance. It was old, but it still held great worth. To Stiles, it was still as enthralling as the day he had met Scott there.

A huff escaped his lips as he stepped into the square of the playground which was surrounded by a multitude of timber. Sepia hues glanced around for a moment, pausing to allow himself to catch his breath before slowly walking towards the sandbox and bending down. His hands reached in, brushing away the sand to check for the initials he and Scott had carved into the edge when they were little—as it could have disappeared. He just had to check.

After that his fingers ran over the engravings, Stiles sauntered towards the tower, hands wrapping around the chilled metal to hoist himself up slowly, with more difficulty than earlier times. Reaching the platform, he sat on the edge, legs dangling off the side as his hands moved to run through his hair, trying to calm himself, eyes fluttering closed as air rushed by him. Behind his closed eyes was an entire world of his own, a place he was glad to be able to escape to no matter how long or short his stay would be.

He hadn't know how long he had remained there, but he had come out of it after hearing the soles of shoes squeak against the slide as if someone was climbing on it. By the time his eyes had fluttered open once more, a warm arm had wrapped around his shoulders along with someone sitting just next to him. The hold was familiar enough for him to know who it was—besides, what were the chances of a stranger finding their way into the park and wrapping an arm around his shoulder?

Stiles shifted slightly, leaning against Scott, head resting on his shoulder wordlessly. The silence was broken only moments later when there werewolf's hand had moved to hold Stiles' for a moment to see how cold it really was. "You're freezing."

"I'm warm enough," he shrugged, eyes focused on the trees in front of him.

Scott gave a shake of his head, hand moving this time to wrap around his friend's in hopes of helping. "If by 'warm enough' you mean 'not at all' then yeah, you're warm enough." From Stiles, there was silence which was odd considering either he would deny just how cold he was or strike up a friendly banter with him, but Scott understood why there was a lack thereof. "What're you thinking about?" Despite the chance of knowing the answer, the crooked jawed male posed the question anyhow.

There was another moment of silence as Stiles' head moved a little so that he was able to look up at him. "I don't wanna talk about that anymore, Scott," he mumbled quietly.

"We don't have to—we can talk about anything else. Anything. Just name it."

Stiles' lips curve ever so slightly, though it was hardly noticeable—perhaps it almost seemed as if he was pressing his lips together. "Remember that time it was raining and you decided you could still monkey bar your way across even when the handles were really wet?"

"Hey, wait, anything but that one—" Scott began to say, stopping in the middle of his sentence when Stiles continued.

"And everything was really muddy and you kind of just.. fell in?" He asked as he begun to laugh a small laugh with an opened mouth. He felt Scott nudge his ribs which only furthered his small laughter.

"Fine, fine how about the time we played lava tag and you slid down the pole and you had nowhere else to go, so you held onto it for as long as you could, trying not to touch the ground and—"

"You just watched me to see how long I could hold out until I let go? _Yeah_, I remember." It was Scott's turn to laugh, although, compared to Stiles', it was warmer, more relaxed. "You know I could've kicked your ass if I hadn't slid down that friggin' pole."

"Yeah, you really think so, man?" Amusement was clear in the werewolf's voice, lips forming a lop-sided smile as he spoke.

"I would've been like.. the king of hot lava, okay, and you know it."

"Fine, prove it."

"You know what?" As he spoke, Stiles began to sit up, slipping from Scott's hold to stand up on the platform. "I will. And I'm gonna give you ten seconds before it's game time," he stated, looking down at the other boy and giving him the universal 'I'm watching you' sign.

"You've got to be kidding me," Scott mused, hazel hues on his friend.

"Is this the face of a kidder? 'Cause I think this is the face non.. kidder. This is my serious face, so take it seriously."

A full smile spread across Scott's lips as his hues took in the sight that was Stiles Stilinski. While he knew his friend was not fully up to par with his normal self, seeing a brighter and more so playful side come out in place of the mood he so hated to see his friend be in was more than a treat. He could never say no to a small game of lava tag if it meant keeping his friend's current mood.

With a playful shake of his head, Scott pushed himself up to stand before jumping down on the next platform. "Hi, Stiles, nice to meet you, I'm a werewolf in case you didn't know." And clearly he would have an unfair advantage since he was stronger and faster.

"And I'm Stiles, very human, and you're gonna have to pretend you're human for like.. ten minutes, comprende, muchacho?"

"Sí. Lo entiendo, listillo, pero no prometo nada.." Scott spoke in a teasing tone, grin on his lips which grew even more so after seeing the face Stiles had made after becoming confused with everything but the first word of his sentence to which the human grumbled under his breath. "You really should've taken Spanish with me," he joked lightly.

After Scott had used the time allotted to move away from Stiles, the game had begun, just like old times where he would jump from different parts of the playground, this time with much more ease considering the circumstances with Stiles following after him, trying to reach him. At one point Stiles did manage to catch up to him, partly because Scott had let him, but the tables turned easily as Scott was able to tag him again only moments after.

It had come to the point where Stiles was leaning against the railing of the tower, holding it whilst trying to catch his breath. Of course he hadn't wanted Scott to notice he was doing so, but how was he supposed to keep it subtle when he was winded, heart beating at a rapid pace and his bones were aching—paining him?

Concern plagued the werewolf's features as he moved towards his friend, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He knew that asking if Stiles wanted to stop would cause the other male to say no in hopes of convincing Scott that he was okay, so he went for an alternative route. "Hey, do you wanna go get something to eat? We could go to that diner down the street, I hear they have some good burgers and fries," he offered, hoping that his friend would decide to leave the game as is. When he saw Stiles nod slowly, a small feeling of relief washed over him before he gave Stiles' shoulder a gentle pat and cocked his head towards the park's exit. "C'mon."

Scott offered Stiles a hand on his way down from the tower. The two of them began to walk slowly together, making their way out of the park and just down the street—of course it hadn't taken too long. Minutes after sitting down, they had ordered their food before relaxing in the seats, shoes touching each other's because of the small space the booths provided.

"Your feet are in the way, McCall," Stiles joked, expression almost serious.

"Pretty sure it's the other way around, dude."

It went back and forth like that for a few moments where Stiles would nudge Scott's foot with his and Scott would return the favor. Not too long after that did their food finally come around.

Both had, as usual, gone for the burgers and fries. Despite Stiles knowing that, due to the regimen recommended by his doctor yesterday, he should have ordered something a little different, but it was only recommended, one burger couldn't hurt too much, could it? Well, he wouldn't deprive himself of the simple pleasure of an American made food—not today at least. It wasn't as if he would find himself eating too much anyhow. His wish to eat was low and his appetite was slowly becoming bird sized. Even his dad had noticed the difference, so he would be glad to know that Stiles had at least eaten something while they were out.

After the werewolf had taken just two of his own fries, Scott pushed his plate to the other side of the table in Stiles' reach. "You want some extra fries?" he asked, eyebrows rising slightly. He refused to tell his friend that, a few months ago, he had started to order fries and only eat a couple before offering them up to Stiles purposely, especially knowing how much the other male enjoyed them so much. Yet he wouldn't have been surprised if his friend had managed to figure it out already.

He noticed the small, almost tired smile on his friend's expression, though it was a smile nonetheless. He didn't know whether it was because the other had just gained a ton of fries or if he was feeling somewhat better mood wise compared to earlier, but he would take it nonetheless.

"Why would I ever say no to that?" Stiles asked, pulling the plate more so towards him to transfer the fries from Scott's plate to his before passing the thing back and popping one of the fries into his mouth. By the time he looked up again, he noticed Scott's hazel hues watching him with some sort of expression he wasn't able to pinpoint on his features.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that?"

Scott's lips curved, as a fond twinkle appeared in his eyes while he watched the other male begin to eat a little of the food on his plate. "You've been smiling more today."

"What about it?" he asked curiously, head tilting slightly.

"I just don't see it as much as I used to." He did see it a little more at the playground, but it was hardly there and it hadn't even looked like a smile, but the one on Stiles' lips moments ago, despite how tired or smile, was prominent. "—and I missed it."

At that, Stiles' lips curved further, gaze moving down to his plate momentarily before moving back towards Scott. "You're the one that brought it out." Having those words fill his ears caused a familiar warmth to course through Scott.

"I hope it'll stick around for a while."


End file.
